Victim of Love (3 page)

So what, I didn’t have a
boyfriend
? Is that what had me moping around like a lonely old man, unable to enjoy a vacation other people my age would kill for? Ridiculous. I refused to accept it. I’d worked too hard for this life to be unhappy. I needed to snap out of it. I slapped my cheeks a couple times just to drive the point home.

That was the answer. I’d
force
myself to be happy. Fake it ‘til you make it and all that. I’d just take this moment, breathe in the salt air, then march my whiny, depressed ass right back up to the resort bar and party with my friends. I’d even try to smile. How was I supposed to have a good time if all I was giving out was moody negativity? Fuck that. I was going to enjoy this trip if it killed me.

Stepping back from the water’s edge, I slipped my shoes on, a shiver making gooseflesh rise on my arms as the breeze kicked up. Laurie was wrong. I wouldn’t have sweat to death in that blue shirt, as no matter how hot it got, the ocean cooled things down at night.

Rubbing my arms, I turned to head back up toward the path—and spotted a body lying on the sand. Pausing, I squinted my eyes through the darkness at the lump near the shoreline, telling myself it was probably just a pile of seaweed. Or maybe a dead fish. A really
big
dead fish. But as I moved closer my pulse raced. Dead fish didn’t wear clothing. Dead
men
did.

He was on his back, feet and lower legs resting on the wet sand. Suit pants, some dark color, blue or black, hard to tell as they were soaked through with seawater. A shirt with a loosened tie. No shoes. Dark hair. Eyes closed.

I approached cautiously, then stared down at him. The man wasn’t dead, I decided, for three reasons. Firstly, his skin had good color. He was a white guy, but the face—a handsome face, I noted—held a medium suntan. Secondly, his hands were clasped together at his midsection over his belly. While it might have been a coffin pose, I doubted that dead men washed up on a beach would be positioned such. And thirdly, a half empty bottle of clear liquor rested at his side.

Not dead. Just dead drunk.

And likely about to freeze to death. A wave crashed gently and water spread over the stranger’s lower body before retreating back into the sea. He didn’t move a muscle.

“Hey.” I knelt down and touched his cheek. Cold. “Hey,” I said, louder this time, giving his shoulder a shake.

Like someone had flipped a switch, the stranger came alive, eyes blinking open as his body jerked like an electric shock had run through him. He looked at me, then sprang to his feet, stumbling backward on the sand. Glaring my way, he wobbled slightly. “Who the fuck are you?”

Pretty eyes pinned me under an irritated scowl, sleepy-looking but also alert now. His body language was defensive, arms curled and chest out, ready for a fight. In my shock at his sudden aliveness, I couldn’t find my voice.

“Who the fuck are you?” he repeated, moving toward me, a sway in his step. “What are you doing?”

“I...I thought you were dead.”

The stranger moved slowly toward me, eyes still narrowed with suspicion. His clothing was drenched, sticking to his body and outlining a fit physique, loosened tie hanging limply to one side. He came so close I thought he was going to bump into me, but stopped himself with mere inches between us. As I stared into his eyes, his frown became a grin, nose wrinkling as he chuckled. His teeth were a little too big for his mouth, but it worked on him, the bright white smile contagious. “You thought I was dead?”

“Yeah. You were lying the in the water. Not moving.”

Tossing his head back, he laughed hard. He spread his arms wide, stumbling slightly. “Well as you can see, I’m not dead. So you can...” He flicked his hand at me, shooing me away. “You can fuck off and go about your business.” He turned and headed toward the shoreline again.

“You’re not gonna lie back down, are you?” I asked. “You could get dragged out to sea and drown.”

“I’m looking for my bottle.” He stumbled across the sand, head down, eyes searching. “Did you take my bottle?”

I sighed, approaching him. “It’s right there.”

He looked at me, then his sleepy eyes followed my pointed finger to the bottle on the sand. His huge grin reappeared. “Ah! My precious.” He scooped the bottle up and uncapped it, taking a long drink. Falling onto his ass, he laughed loudly. “Here’s to not being dead!”

Okay, Olsen. The guy’s not dead. Leave him be and go back to the resort.

Clearly the man was of sound mind despite the drunkenness. It wasn’t my job to babysit a stranger. I told myself to walk away. But my feet wouldn’t move. What if I left and this idiot decided to go for a swim? I had visions of waking up at the bungalow tomorrow, heading down to the beach with the gang, only to find the place swarming with cops who’d found the drowned body of this drunk guy. Knowing I could have prevented it. But could I? It wasn’t my business as an individual. But I supposed it was my business as a decent human being.

“Hey, it’s getting chilly down here and you’re soaked. You should go back to wherever you’re staying and change into some dry clothes.”

He looked up at me with a confused scowl. “What did you say? Something about clothes? Sorry, I wasn’t listening.”

“Yes,
clothes
. Yours are wet through.”

He set the bottle down and climbed to his feet. “Fuck clothes!” He tugged his tie off over his head and cast it aside, then began unbuttoning his shirt. Growing impatient halfway through, he tore it open, buttons popping, and shrugged it off his shoulders. Tossing the shirt down, he kicked sand on it. “I’m on vacation. Fuck clothes.” Throwing his head back, he laughed again, the sound echoing off the water.

Oh. Great
. As I watched him stretch his arms and spin in a circle before dropping onto his ass again, I cursed under my breath. Convincing this moron to leave the beach wasn’t going to be so easy. As he stretched back and propped his arms behind him, staring up at the night sky, I tried not to look at the glistening bare skin now visible on his lean, fit upper body. His dark hair was short and damp, ruffling in the breeze. I studied the cords of his neck, the line of his jaw. His nose was thick and a bit short, but his cheekbones were high and he had a nice chin. Probably a few years older than me, he was undeniably cute, and probably closer to handsome when he was cleaned up and sober and not covered in wet sand.

Reminding myself I was supposed to be concerned with his safety, not checking him out, I tried once more to reason with him. “Listen, dude. Are you gonna be all right here? Maybe you should head home. You’re pretty wasted. You don’t want to fall asleep on the beach, do you?”

His head turned and he frowned up at me. “Did you call me
dude
?”

“Well, I don’t know your name.”

He bound to his feet and took a step toward me. “Who are you again?”

“I’m the guy who thought you were dead.”

His huge, comical grin appeared again. “Oh, right.” He laughed, doubling over and holding his gut. “You thought I was dead.”

“Do you want me to call someone? Someone waiting for you at home?”

He straightened, and his eyes really focused on me for the first time, trailing over my body before meeting my gaze again. He smiled slyly and took a step toward me. “Well. Look at you.”

I wasn’t sure how to respond to that statement. “Yeah. Look at me. So, do you want me to call someone for you or not?”

“You have a phone?”

“Yeah. Sure.” I pulled it out of my pocket.

He held his hand out. “Give it here.”

I hesitated for a second, then handed him the phone.

He smiled. “Thank you.” Then he turned and sprinted down the beach, away from me. With my phone. His laughter echoed back on the wind.

I stood dumbfounded, trying to process that this drunken stranger had just taken off with my phone. And was getting farther away by the second. “You have got to be kidding me,” I muttered. “Hey! Hey, you bastard!”

His form grew smaller as he ran. For a drunk guy, he could really move. Letting out a low growl, I ran after him. “Stop running!” I shouted as my legs pumped, the sand making my stride unsteady. “Stop! Give me back my phone!”

Fortune was in my favor, as the man stumbled and fell to his knees. As I came upon him, I spotted my phone on the sand, thrown free from his fall. I shook my head at the stranger, then knelt down and grabbed the phone, brushing sand off it. As I rose up, a slight, needle sharp pain pricked the back of my shoulder, making me jump.

I whirled around as the stranger, who’d gotten to his feet again, pointed at me, laughing. “You should see your face!”

Rubbing my shoulder, I stared at him. “Did you just...
bite
me?”

“Yeah.” He snickered, then moved closer, resting a hand on my shoulder. “I did. I bit you.”

I stared back at him. I’d never been bitten by a random stranger before, and a proper response evaded me.

“Sorry. It didn’t hurt, did it?”

“Not...really. Just unexpected.” I cleared my throat. “Look, I gotta go.”

“Already? Are you sure?” His eyes were suddenly sincere. “Come on, don’t go yet. Hang out a bit.” The soft expression on his handsome face, and the feel of his fingers gently kneading my shoulder, was distracting—as it was clearly
meant
to be, because as I got lost in his eyes for that brief moment, he used his other hand to snatch my phone, and took off down the beach again.

“Son of a bitch!” I ran after him. “This just stopped being funny,” I shouted. The object of my pursuit disagreed, as evidenced by his cackling laughter.

My legs pumped as I crossed the sandy beach, getting farther away from the resort. “Stop!”

To my pleasant surprise, the figure in the distance did stop, and looked back.
Thank God
. He remained there, waiting, watching my approach. It seemed to take forever for me to reach him. He’d covered a good distance with that sprint, and I was short of breath by the time I came upon him, stumbling as I slowed my stride. “What the hell!” I glared at the smiling stranger, who held my phone over his head. “What is the matter with you? Come on.” I held my hand out. “Give it back.”

“I just had an idea. I want to go up there.” He pointed to a huge mountainous sand dune covered in sea grass, like a hairy, sleeping mammoth looming over the beach.

I sneered up at it, then looked at him. “You want to climb a sand dune.
Now?
Dude, you’re shitfaced.”

“
Dude
. I don’t care. Wanna race me?”

“No I don’t want to fucking race you. You know what? I’m done. Give me back my phone.”

He shook his head. “Nope.”

“What do you mean,
nope?
Give it to me.”

“Race me up the dune and I’ll give it back.”

I took a swipe, trying to grab my phone out of his hand. He dodged me, and hid it behind his back, snickering.

“Very mature,” I said. “Come on, quit fucking around. I want my phone.”

“You want it?” Fast as a whip, he reached around and slapped my ass. “Come and get it!”

My mouth fell open as he took off toward the dune and began scaling the sandy slope. I stood agog, watching the shirtless figure crawl like a spider, higher and higher, heading toward the peak.

This was
not
the kind of excitement I’d craved tonight, so I refused to even entertain the ‘be careful what you wish for’ cliché.

I watched as he reached the peak and stood triumphantly, holding my phone over his head like a prize as he howled in victory.

He has to come down some time
.

I could wait. He’d tire of this eventually, and when he came down, I’d get my phone by force if necessary. I wasn’t a fighter, but was reasonably sure I could overpower him in his intoxicated state. But how long would that be? I couldn’t stand here all night. I reminded myself that this man was drunk, and could possibly just pass out up there.

Wind whipped at my shirt as I stared up at him. He held his arms out to the sides. “Are you coming? The view is great!”

“I don’t want to climb up there. Come.
Down!
”

“No! You come up.”

I moved to the base of the dune and craned my neck, looking up as he gave me that cute grin from above. “Toss down my phone at least!”

“I’ll give it back, I promise,
dude
. But you have to come up here first.”

I regretted waking the guy, because now I wanted to kill him myself. This thought propelled me forward, and I began to climb. Sand spilled over my sinking feet, working against me. I whispered a litany of curses, clinging to clumps of sea grass, the sharp blades stinging my hands. My quads burned. The stranger above me laughed, and I glared up at him, pushing myself harder.

Finally reaching the summit, I collapsed onto my back, breathing heavily. I’d thought I was in good shape, but clearly my regime of biking and weight lifting hadn’t prepared me for this. Perhaps I’d have to add dune climbing to my workout repertoire.

“You okay there?” my unwelcome companion asked, seating himself beside me.

“As soon as I catch my breath I’m going to kill you.”

“Oh, come on. This is fun.”

I sat up and glared at him, struggling not to be distracted by his naked chest and charming smile. “Give me my phone. Please.”

“Relax. Take in the view.”

My phone was no longer in his hand. “Where’s my pho—”

“Don’t worry, it’s in my pocket.”

I reached for his trousers and he slapped my hand away.

“Hey, easy! Don’t be grabbing at a guy, that’s rude!”

“You slapped my ass,” I said. “That’s rude, too.”

I held the stranger’s gaze, awkwardness creeping in as I considered my last words.
He slapped my ass
. Sure, he was drunk. Drunk people did stupid shit. But would a straight guy do that? Slap another guy’s ass?
Oh, no. Don’t go there, Olsen
. But it was too late. The thought had entered my brain and begun to set up camp. Suddenly the sleepy gaze of the stranger took on new meaning for me. And he wasn’t looking away.

“You have big eyes,” he said.

“Really.” I maintained my irritated tone, but his pointed gaze made me a bit unnerved now.